


Norwegian Blue, or The Bearskin Rug Epiphanies

by bean_allusions



Category: Monty Python RPF
Genre: Angst, Bickering, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Smut, meta(?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bean_allusions/pseuds/bean_allusions
Summary: Terry Jones has found himself obsessed with deciphering Graham, to the point where things may be going dangerously far.A bit of a long one, maybe a little weird, but I love angst and saturni_stellis's prompts for Yuletide 2020 were so inspiring!I hope you like it :)
Relationships: Graham Chapman/Terry Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Norwegian Blue, or The Bearskin Rug Epiphanies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturni_stellis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/gifts).



Graham hid Pandora's box inside his eyes.

One could never tell if he was about to unleash some strangely intelligent and knowledgeable piece of information or idea, usually only a few words long and completely out of the blue, but there was an infinite possibility in his mind that no one could ever get to.

Terry often thought of this, of the mysteries Graham would never share with anyone.

He wasn't even sure if Graham himself was aware of this fact or if he simply acted on whatever strange impulse came to him as he was sitting quietly, sucking on his pipe.

There was so much to explore in Chapman's brain, and the few words that came out of him were carefully and unconsciously crafted from the melting pot of abstract notions that no one could ever wrap their head around.

Terry sighed, sat back at his desk. Graham mystified him, but who didn't Graham mystify, especially once he'd had a few drinks?

What must it be like to write with an enigma that communicates in intelligent intermittent bursts of inebriation? Terry and Michael were always talking as they wrote, always playing the parts with full comedic effect and dissecting each scene. Eric didn't count, Eric wrote alone, toying with wordplay in everything he conjured onto the page to present at the next meeting. Graham was an enigma within an enigma, the enigma of Cleese and Chapman. None of them really knew how the pair operated, with John's stern aggression and Graham's unpredictability.

Terry started and jumped into a whispered frenzy of profanities at the sight of ink from his pen leaking through his paper into a puddle on his desk.

"Shit shit shit shit...."

He'd zoned off again, thinking of Gray. It was a worrying obsession.

When Terence Graham Parry Jones set his mind to something, he could not let himself rest until he had finished that task.

He had been working on the task of understanding Graham for years now.

It was getting borderline asinine, but Terry's vice was that the word "defeat" had never been in his vocabulary.

* * *

He'd tried to tell Mike once, about this obsession Graham. Just subtle, hinting at the pull of the mystery. Michael had laughed good-naturedly and patted Terry on the shoulder, asking if he needed a drink.

Terry had never mentioned it after that, not for over a year.

For now, he contented himself with stealing glances at the blond and his pipe in the corner of the room as the rest of them sat around Eric's dining room table, scripts tossed into the middle of the table like ingredients in a cauldron. The looks were as short as gasps of air as Terry took Graham in slowly, the way he was sitting, what he could possibly say next— if he would speak at all today.

If the looks had been longer, the group, Graham very much included, would have called Terry mildly inappropriate names and teased him for months to come. Well, he wasn't homosexual, far from it, anything romantic regarding Graham was at the back of Terry's mind if it was there at all. What no one but him could understand is that this infatuation was overwhelmingly platonic, Graham was barely even a person to him in this sense, more of a riddle he was about to crack but never quite could.

Terry watched as Graham, still looking at his lap, mumbled something around his pipe.

Everyone else had been and still was loudly discussing over the main table, and Terry was too afraid to call out Graham. They'd know he'd have to have been looking to catch that. Luckily for him, John, sitting beside Graham, spoke first.

"What was that, Gray?"

Graham mouthed something indistinctly.

"Speak up you great bloody bastard, won't you?"

"Norwegian blue," Graham said matter-of-factly.

"I beg your pardon?" John retorted with a smirking sneer.

"Norwegian blue," Responded Graham, neither excited nor shy.

"Sorry dear, you're a few years late on the parrot sketch, I'm afraid. The line was hilarious the first time, I will give it to you."

John had crossed his arms and was leaning back in his chair, giggling at his writing partner's verbal deja-vu.

Terry hid his gazing in the laughter from the table. Graham was smiling a bit, seemingly completely unembarrassed by his mistake.

How nice, to be unbothered, thought Jones.

Graham looked up suddenly and caught Terry's eye, and flashed a professional-looking smile at the younger man. How kind of him, Terry thought, trying to push away the notion that the subject of his interest had caught him observing.

And what a pretty subject he was interested in.

Terry shook away the uninvited thought until that night when he could escape it no longer.

Terry wasn't attracted to men, but surely no one could deny that Graham Chapman was objectively handsome. It was all in how he carried his tall, lean frame, perfectly positioned dirty blond locks framing the lines of his face that were arranged in a way that looked almost unrealistic, but not in a way that was unlikable. The look was topped by a rare smile of somewhat crooked teeth, and soft blue eyes.

His eyes.

They appeared almost dusty as if no one had bothered to check what was behind them in a very long while. Once, Terry had watched them change from blue to grey as the lighting changed through a three-hour reading, transfixed, wondering what they held in them.

And then there were his musings. Graham was charming when he needed to be, no wonder he was able to pick up all those men wherever he went. Terry had watched, absentmindedly stared as Graham held their elbows and whispered in their ear, one eyebrow cocked and smirking, then pulling away with a furrowed brow, and finally smiling at them. What could he possibly tell them to convince them to be slept with so quickly?

Terry shot upright in his bed. What if those men were the ones who knew the inner workings of Graham's mind? What if he told them why or how he operated? What if _that_ was why Terry had barely gotten anywhere?

"Darling, please, what's wrong?"

Terry turned to Alison peering up at him, woken by his physical realization, looking a little disgruntled.

"My bad love, I just realized something. I'm heading back to sleep."

Terry kissed her and rolled back to face the wall on his side of the bed, trying to decide what to do.

He might as well try. It's not like he would let himself pass up any opportunity to understand.

* * *

And so Terry watched, this time with a real, defined purpose. He watched on nights they all went out to the pubs around town, how Graham would leave the table for about an hour and return with some young man hanging off his arm, excusing himself and wishing them a good night. Sometimes he wouldn't come back to the table at all.

The first time he'd done this, John had to be the one to reluctantly explain the unspoken situation, having known Graham the longest. They hadn't thought much of it at the time. Graham had done and would do worse.

Terry continued to observe how Graham flirted, his expressions, his glances, the movement of his hands. How he and his partner David fit into each other when Terry visited them. Soon enough, Terry found himself mimicking the timing of laughter and hand motions Graham and whoever his date was would use to communicate with each other.

It wasn't that Terry was attracted to Graham himself, it was far more nuanced than that. Terry had become infatuated with the idea of seducing Graham, of _somehow_ getting the older man to finally let the inner workings of his brain spill out onto Terry's drawing board. It didn't hurt that Graham was easy enough on the eyes, but that wasn't the point.

Terry didn't like men, Graham included. He just wanted the chance to know Graham's mind, _intimately_ , in the most selfish way possible.

"Going out?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you going out?" Graham repeated, pointing at Terry's coat.

"Oh. No, I suppose not...." Terry widened the front door and moved aside to let Graham in. He didn't even remember opening the door to Graham at all, and he must have forgotten to take his coat off after doing the groceries two hours earlier. Alison was away for the afternoon, recently she'd been having to remind him to take off his coat and scarf when he came in. She always tutted at how absent-minded and pre-occupied her husband had gotten, and seemed mildly upset at the fact that Terry would never tell her what he was thinking about when he got that way.

Probably best he didn't, Terry thought to himself.

"Ah, well... cuppa?" He asked Graham, who was standing stoically in the hall.

"Afraid not. Just dropping this off. It's a cacophonous legal myriad." Graham held up a stack of neat papers Terry had failed to notice. "You just have to sign."

"Ah. Well thank you very much, I hope you know I won't be reading these," Terry sighed, taking the papers unceremoniously. "If I'm signing away my first-born to the BBC you'd let me know?"

Graham gave a small chuckle. "Never trust me. You should know this by now, my dear Terence. Good night."

"Good night Gray," Terry replied, amused by the cryptic answer to his query, particularly the part where Graham had called Terry his "dear". This was nothing special, it was a common title bestowed by Graham to anyone within 10 meters of him, but today it had struck a different chord.

Terry sent him off with a subtle smile that Graham always gave to whatever young man he picked up, looking for a response in the taller man, but Graham simply walked away with minimal pomp, probably too drunk to notice, or perhaps he just didn't care to.

Terry sat back out the couch, casually accepting his private defeat, and absentmindedly leafed through the papers. His calloused fingers flipped quickly through the pages, reaching for a pen with his other hand as copyright and usage agreements flitted in front of his eyes.

Wait.

Terry could have sworn he had seen a small doodle of a parrot in the corner of one of the pages, traced and signed by Graham's signature slant. He couldn't find what page it was on for the life of him, he'd probably hallucinated it, but then again there were hundreds of text-filled pages, only the ones for signing were bookmarked. It could be hidden on any of the unnoticed in-between pages always passed over in routine. Maybe it wasn't on any of the pages after all.

Alison would be home soon. Terry took his coat off.

* * *

Graham, for his part, showed no sign that he and Terry had had any interaction at all the next time they all met.

Michael was having a dinner party and decided to invite Graham along with his usual gaggle of guests, of which Terry was one of the longest-reigning members.

"And then this poor girl falls _back_ into the puddle- I honestly don't know how she managed it!- anyway she fell back in and you should have seen her face after that, you'd think it would be defeat but oh no, she was completely pissed...."

Terry chuckled at Michael, who was talking animatedly, his wife Helen rolling her eyes and adding details he seemed to miss every time he retold a story. They were certainly excellent hosts. Luckily for Terry, that meant all the attention was on the couple.

This left Terry unnoticed, sitting next to Graham, who was laughing politely with the level of wine left in his glass surprisingly high. He always managed to behave himself for Michael's more civil events; it was the strangest thing.

"You hear him tell this one before?" Terry whispered to Graham though his smile

"No, not yet I'm afraid. It seems like quite the dramatic arc." Graham was still facing forward, watching Michael's eclectic hand gestures.

"Ah, just wait till he gets to the part with the cat. He swears it was a puppy, but Helen always corrects him, and frankly, I think I trust her more than Mike here." Terry moved his right hand to Graham's shoulder, just as he had seen other men do before Graham made his move. "Unintended pathological liar, he is."

Terry pulled his hand away as quickly as he'd brought it over to Gray's shoulder; he wasn't yet ready for anything more than that to get what he wanted.

"Agreed, but it does make for a thrilling dinner and a show, doesn't it?" Graham responded, still looking away, half-full glass still in hand.

"Yes," said Terry, the smirk wiped from his face. Not that Graham would have noticed a change in expression, looking away and all. Did he notice _anything_?

Terry grumbled as he got into bed that night, upset at his lack of progress.

Graham told his secrets, at least part of then, to the men he met. Looks aside, what else would they hear that made them jump at the opportunity to follow the bloke home? It was a fact, Terry Jones was irreparably convinced.

What else was there to do?

Whatever it was, Terry would find it. He would finally understand Graham if it killed him.

* * *

He tried again about two weeks later when the four of them (sans John and Gilliam, who had each had some mundane errands) went to the pub after a meeting at the BBC.

He sat across from Graham, who was as to be expected, puffing his pipe and looking many miles away. In the midst of conversation, Terry shifted and slid his foot across Graham's calf, just enough to be perceivable.

When Graham looked up, Terry smiled and muttered an apology, looking at Graham for a second too long. As Graham nodded and looked away, Terry slid his gaze down to the man's hands.

Pale, pink-toned, clean, fingernails trimmed. Although on any other man they may have looked rough, on Graham they moved effortlessly, elegantly, never exerting the force one knew by looking at them that they could.

Terry felt Graham's gaze on him, and he looked down for a while longer. He only hoped the older man had noticed his staring, perhaps finally seen a sign, perhaps he would finally suppose that Terry wanted him (not that Terry did, of course, but that was far beside the point). Maybe Terry would finally get the sweet release of the epiphany of Graham's mind.

But Graham showed no acknowledgment, looking back up and laughing at some impression Eric was pulling. This was all beginning to be a little frustrating.

"I should be getting home, Alison'll be expecting me about half an hour ago," Terry said casually as he got up and took his scarf, disguising his vexation at the outcome of his attempt.

Terry left quickly, walking to the tune of the chorus of joyous and tipsy goodbyes that followed him from the table.

He couldn't have been home long when he heard the phone cry out into incessant ringing. He walked over, shaking himself out of his trance before he picked up. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten home.

"Hello?"

"Ah, hello, Terry. We've just got some news back from earlier today, be at my house in an hour to meet up with everyone, will you?" Graham's distinguished voice was followed by the click of him hanging up before Terry even got to mumble out an affirmation.

He would walk to Graham's house, it would give him more time to think and it should take about an hour anyhow.

At least he didn't have to worry about his coat. He'd forgotten to take it off again.

* * *

Terry strolled leisurely, his dark hair peppered with the fall's first snowflakes. What could the gathering be about, he wondered? The meeting had been routine, just fiscal plans and overall projections, but their ratings were increasing.

Although Terry had managed to ignore them, there were whispered rumors of another program or perhaps guest appearances, perhaps even some marketing upgrades. With how the current success of the show was rising, the notion wasn't too unbelievable, and Terry couldn't wait to find out the news surrounded by the troupe.

This is why, rushing in fifteen minutes late, he froze at the sight of a tall blond sitting completely alone in silence.

"Graham? I thought you said everyone would be here, is my watch fast or-"

"What are you trying to do?" Graham didn't look at Terry, not masking the frustration in his pale blue eyes or the determined strain in his tone.

"I beg your pardon?" Terry said as he took off his scarf slowly.

Graham guffawed spitefully. "You think I haven't noticed? The staring, the touches, approaching me. You barely spoke to me at all before."

Terry said nothing, still standing at the door, dumbfounded.

"I mean, come on! I didn't want to believe you meant anything but today was the last straw. I know it's intentional, what the hell do you want from me?"

Graham was up and pacing, his voice projecting louder with every word he spoke, spittle flying from his lips and catching the last stubborn rays of light from the window. Finally, he seemed to calm himself and put his face in his hand with a sigh, shoulders drooping in defeat.

"I just don't understand you, Terence." The older man's voice was partially muffled by the flesh of his palms. "I mean, all I've been able to ponder for a month is why on _Earth_ you would do this and pull away at the last second, it makes no sense." One of Graham's forearms moved to rest on the mantlepiece and his fist clenched weakly. The fire seemed subdued in his presence but still illuminated his bemused expression.

"I could maybe have considered that you were just being kind and that this was an accident. I could have even believed it if you had realized something about yourself and were really coming onto me, but this?..."

Graham's voice was very very soft, and he looked up at Terry with an expression of defeat on his face.

"I don't understand, Terry. This isn't you."

The man's expression solidified into a sadder variant of the face he usually wore and he walked back over to the armchair, long legs crossing out of habit.

"I'm sorry Terry, I just wish I knew what you were trying to achieve here. Sit, please."

Terry still stood, face unreadable, by the door. The snowflakes in his hair had long since melted with the heat of the fire and Graham's temper and were dripping down onto the stylish yet worn carpet below his feet.

Graham sighed.

"Well if you don't want to be here I suppose you should leave, I apolog-"

"I wanted to understand."

Terry spit out the whisper under his breath, not looking at the man he'd become addicted to.

Graham leaned forward, his tone hinting more of compassion. "Understand what, dear?"

There was that goddamned term again, the one that confused Terry beyond belief, and Terry Jones did not like to be confused. Nevertheless, at least Graham wasn't yelling now. The dark-haired man took off his coat slowly and sat down on the sofa as he considered his next move.

"Gray, you are... you're... I don't... I can't figure you out, Chapman. I never know what's going on in that mind of yours and it's infuriating."

Neither of the men was ready to look at each other just yet. Graham purposely stayed silent until Terry spoke again.

"I assumed that's how you always have blokes hanging off of you at every turn. You show them some part of your thoughts that you hide otherwise, intentionally or not."

There was a heavy bout of silence, only interrupted by the fire crackling.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?" Graham pleaded in a whisper. "I'll tell you anything, Tel, you know I will, you didn't have to do this for so long."

Terry couldn't even linger on the statement that he could have just asked. Graham had called him Tel. Only Michael and some of his closest family had ever called him that. Graham was staunchly against nicknames— even Terry was a begrudging exception. Here they were, candid, and Graham still confused the poor Jonesey.

"Why did you say Norwegian Blue last month? In the meeting?"

The question took Graham aback slightly, but then again, the man had no idea what he expected. He didn't think Terry would stay.

"I felt like it. Maybe it was to get a reaction from or for all of you, I don't know, but I don't really pay those things any mind."

The taller man was sitting more openly now, his body language much softer than a few minutes before.

"Oh," Terry sighed quickly. "Wait, when did you know I was acting strange?"

Graham muttered and sat up toward the liquor cabinet as he answered.

"You've been acting off longer than you probably realize, my dear Terence, some months now- I'll get you some brandy, hold on- but it was today that I'd had enough.

Graham returned with two glasses and passed one to his companion as they sat in the firelight. Terry mulled for a bit. There it was again, Graham calling him dear, but he'd lingered too long on that syllable, not even in sarcasm. Graham was playing his own games now.

"Why are you so quiet and the moment we step out you're army crawling on the floor ripping off the stockings of men and women alike with your teeth?"

Terry couldn't help but smirk, and Graham smiled absentmindedly as he spoke.

"One never knows how nor why the booze will take them nor how or when it does. That, and the fact that I've always felt in complete control but there are times I need to let some out. If people see me acting like a looney they don't notice what I do when I'm not at either extreme, I suppose."

The fire was dwindling. Terry needed to know.

"Do you say anything like this to all your boys?"

Terry held his breath, barely daring to look up at the man sitting before him.

"My boys?" Graham smiled, amused for only a second before his eyes somehow turned darker. "No. They get the same surface level everyone else has. If one doesn't ask about me, I don't tell. You asked. I'll tell you. Show you anything you want."

Terry met the blue eyes that suddenly looked unlocked, Graham free behind them. He'd done it. That was it.

As much as Terry wanted to know more, his main goal was complete. He was going to learn how the elusive mystery of Graham's existence functioned, and he was already exhausted.

"Thank you, Gray. I'm sorry I pushed."

Graham looked snapped out of a trance, perhaps a bit taken aback by the way the tone of the conversation had changed.

"I'm sorry I yelled."

At these words Terry rose, taking his coat and scarf. Just as he opened the door he turned around, the last of the fire's glow catching on the strong features of his face.

"You didn't think I was really having a go at you, right?"

Graham smiled softly and shook his head.

"You were much too awkward, you uptight bloke."

At this, Terry gave one last contented sigh and stepped out to his long walk back home. He deliberately chose not to dwell on the interlaced sadness Graham had spoken the last sentence with.

* * *

It wasn't until a fortnight later when he was at home in the bath, Alison fast asleep in the other room, that Terry felt images of graceful hands and blue eyes and crooked smiles and a lyrical deep voice wash over him. Graham was a beautiful man with a beautiful mind.

Terry skimmed his pruned fingers over the water, sitting in the guilt that he had realized too late that perhaps an obsession had become something much more dangerous.

He'd taken so many risks today, what was one more?

Quietly drying off in the mirror so as not to wake his wife, Terry took the phone off the hook in the downstairs kitchen, cursing the bath when his finger slipped out of its place on the dial and he had to begin again.

The ringing felt like fire alarms blaring into Terry's mind, and he almost hung up until he heard a groggy but unmistakable voice answer.

"Hullo? At this hour?"

"It's Terry. I need to come over. I learned something we both should have known earlier. Please."

Terry's voice was frantic, pleading, almost tearful.

Graham, still not fully awake, mumbled a short reply along the lines of "I'm already awake, why not" that was not finished by the time Terry dropped the phone on the counter and was running to take his coat.

Graham was in the living room when he heard a car pull onto the street and someone slam the door shut. Tentatively he walked over and opened the oaken front door to the flustered Terry, who still had his hand raised, ready to knock.

"Graham, I'm sorry for calling so late," Terry panted, looking on the verge of tears. "There's just something I need t-"

"Sit down."

"What?" Terry was terribly confused by Graham's order.

Graham simply repeated himself with an indifferent tone, "Please do sit down, Terence, you look awfully cold."

Graham was completely disinterested and calm, after everything Terry had gone through? After how he'd shown up to the man's doorstep? Surely Graham had to know what Terry wanted, but he chose to humor him?

It was enough to make Terry's cold blood boil.

"I cannot believe you, I really can't, Chapman," Terry spit suddenly. "We get _this_ close to a dynamic where we don't have to act around each other and you pull this again. You're a sick kind of sadist, but you know that, don't you?"

At this point, Terry was screaming, his face less than a foot away from Graham's, whose expression was still unchanged.

"How many others have you done this to, eh? Is this your whole scheme? bring them in with a mystery and then pretend nothing ever happened?"

This is when Terry Jones began to cry in frustration.

"How many others, Graham?" This question was much softer, much sadder, and Graham heard Terry's voice break as a result of the tears.

Terry was just about to turn and leave when Graham spoke.

"You're the only one."

"Pardon?" Terry replied, unsuccessfully attempting to hide a sniffle.

Graham's shoulders drooped slightly, and he shrugged. "You're the only one who ever cared enough to know, Tel. And frankly, if anyone else _did_ try to figure me out, I don't know if I'd let them. For you, I didn't even have to consider otherwise."

There it was again, Terry thought. Graham had called him Tel. Terry decided to stay a little longer.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked apprehensively.

Graham sighed and motioned for Terry to follow him into the living room. Once they were facing each other from the armchairs the pair had sat in the last time they met, the older man sighed and spoke.

"Everyone thinks I'm strange, but that's as far as they ever go. You saw beyond that, Terry. You're just as fascinating and strange as I am, maybe even more so. You're the only person I can trust like this, and frankly, it also has to do with the fact that you're an incredible man."

Terry looked confused, and Graham leaned forward as he continued.

"You're the backbone of all of us, Tel. People might say it's John or Michael but it's _you_. You're a comedy genius, I'll never understand how you do it. And more than that, you have a sincerity in your acting that none of us could ever compete with. Not to mention how passionate you are, or how you know exactly how to piece work together. And that's just while we're working- you care, and you think and you analyze and you create more than the rest of us can ever dream of...."

Graham was dangerously close to Terry now, but with the rare sincerity in the older man's voice, Terry didn't mind at all.

"I don't trust anyone else with me but you, Tel."

With these words, Graham's hand came to rest gently on Terry's, and the latter found himself leaning forward to rest his forehead against Graham's.

Neither of them spoke, they only breathed together in the low light with their eyes closed, not wanting to break the silence.

Terry had expected for there to be an uncomfortable moment of misunderstanding, or maybe, just maybe, some kind of filthy tension. He hadn't expected this at all. They didn't need to speak, they didn't need to do anything but stay near each other. Terry didn't know how Graham felt, but he knew, somehow, that Graham it didn't matter to either of them. This was a moment beyond those stupid reasons and emotions that society needed for everything. It was only them awake in the world, at least, that was how it felt.

Terry's hand moved to hold Graham's, slow but not tentative, and he felt Graham's head start to move away.

Terry began to panic. He'd read this all wrong, Graham hated him. It was a fleeting thought anyway, he never should have come.

But Graham tightened his grip on Terry's hand and instead leaned up and brushed his lips against the brunet's temple, feeling the soft raven hair graze against his cheek. As Graham leaned in once again, Terry whispered, barely audible.

"I've never... not a man... I don't know what to do."

Graham shushed Terry gently and just held the other close for a few minutes, not wanting to rush.

"It's alright, dear. I'll lead," He whispered into Terry's dark hair, and kissed his cheek softly.

Terry's lips were warm and plump and soft and shy against Graham's as their mouths met softly. It wasn't rough, it wasn't long, but it was perfect.

"Is that what you came here to tell me?" Graham asked as they pulled away.

Terry giggled under his breath. "How could you possibly have guessed?"

Graham returned a smile that Terry felt but couldn't see, as Graham was still holding Terry in his arms and rubbing his back. "I thought you were clear you weren't trying to flirt with me?"

"That's the strange thing, I wasn't," Terry replied. "I didn't even consider it until today. I didn't freak out at first, but I didn't expect it at all."

"Didn't freak out, Tel? You looked like you'd been possessed by the ghost of homosexuality when you arrived."

Terry laughed good-naturedly. "I said at first!"

They were quiet again, just sitting in each other's arms until Terry spoke.

"I don't want to leave. What if it's a dream and I wake up?"

Graham kissed Terry's head again softly. "We could just stay here forever. That would be bliss, wouldn't it? You're so soft, darling."

Terry felt the blond smile.

"You could stay here if you wanted. Tell Alison that the crazy man you work with called you to finish a script in the middle of the night." Terry jumped at Graham's words, startling them both.

"Alison... oh, God, what have I done?"

Terry and Alison both occasionally saw other people, that was just how they agreed their marriage would work, but this was terribly different. This was a man, and Terry felt so much more than any other time he and some bird had some hollow temporary arrangement. He couldn't tell Alison, this would kill her.

But keeping it a secret would ruin their marriage as well, and that was too much for Terry to handle. His lip started to tremble.

He _hated_ crying. It was some snivelly form of defeat that he avoided at all costs. He was better than crying. Terry bit his lip and let the logic take over like it always did when he felt the tears begin to threaten him. He stood up and shook his head.

"I can't, Gray, I'm sorry. I can't do this to my wife, not now."

Like Terry, Graham's expression immediately changed from content to almost professional neutrality in a second. "I understand. I'm sorry this went too far."

"I hope you know I do care," said Terry, sentimentality threatening to slip through the wall he'd put up behind his eyes.

"Likewise," replied Graham, but he was already looking away into the fire.

As Terry opened the door, he came to accept a much bigger truth. Graham had seen through Terry for a very long time, that was why he trusted the latter with his enigmatic self. Graham had realized that although his own front was much more mysterious, he and Terry were the same con man chameleons in how they dealt with their emotions. It was all kept inside, no matter how Terry appeared.

The pair silently understood each other much more than Terry had expected. He pushed away any feelings of sadness or regret or guilt and put his outward front back on as he drove home.

He knew Graham had done the same.

* * *

Terry avoided talking to anyone involved with Graham for a very long while, not really out of guilt but instead a blatant selfishness. He and Graham didn't owe each other anything, not now.

It didn't matter that they were the first people to unlock each others' key secret. It didn't matter that they'd had a moment of passion in a dark living room. It didn't matter that their mutual friends were getting worried. Terry's selfish apathy had consumed him fully, and he supposed it was making for a dreadfully dull chapter in his life for the reader.

Ah, well... so much for pathos.

He was reading the paper when his wife called for him from upstairs. Terry found her skimming her fingers over the water in the tub, her nakedness sheathed by the water that was milky from whatever concoction of creams and perfumes she had created. Terry knew Alison hated waste. She only did this at her low points, when her dedicated research bothered her for a few hours until she returned with a newfound vigor.

"What is it, darling?" Terry sat down on the wooden chair in the corner of their bathroom. Alison was still idly stirring the water and spoke completely matter-of-factly.

"I know about you and Graham."

Terry froze. He hadn't told a soul, and he had expected no less from Gray....

"How do you find out about a kiss that happened in the middle of the night kilometers away?" He asked exasperatedly.

Alison suddenly looked very maudlin, still facing away from her husband so all he could see were the bare feminine arches of her back tense. "I didn't. You just told me."

Ah, there it was. Terry had fallen into her trap. She'd heard the phone call, then, and noticed he acted normal all of a sudden after he went to Graham's. Surely, though, she hadn't expected that kind of interaction to be the reason why....

"I'm so sorry, darling, I left as soon as it happened, I couldn't bear to keep it from you-"

"You really do care about him, don't you?" Alison asked, turning slightly so Terry could at least see one of her eyes. "Oh come on. You know how we work as a couple. I don't care if he's a man, and even if you thought I did you would have asked, I know you, Terry."

Terry's wife turned to him fully now, the milk swishing around her in waves.

"If it was like any of the girls you've seen you would have told me and then ran along with it, you _know_ how we work together, Terry, you and I _know_ this by now."

Alison straightened her spine and sat up a bit before she continued.

"Does he make you happy?" She asked, seeming sincere.

Terry shook his head. "Beg your pardon, love?"

"Does. He. Make. You. _Happy_ ," Alison repeated, stressing each word like Terry was a child.

The man in question mulled over the question for a few seconds, eventually simply shrugging. "It's more complicated than that, but... yes. Yes, I suppose in some way he does."

"Mmmhmm," Alison nodded. "How much do you want him?"

"I don't need him, Alison."

"I didn't ask if you needed him, Terry. I asked if you wanted him."

By now Alison seemed to be getting impatient.

Terry sighed in defeat against her. "I want him very much, but I'm afraid it's too much for us. I do care for him a dangerous amount, but with all the nuances it would be more logical not to damage... us."

Alison stood to get out of the bath and Terry skimmed her familiar curves and dips as she slipped a towel over herself and went to the mirror to fix her hair.

"If it gets to be too much, just promise you'll come back to me," She rationalized, meeting her husband's eyes in the mirror. "We can't be happy if you're not happy, and Graham seems like a lovely man."

Terry smiled and got up to kiss his wife on the cheek. That bloody brilliant mind of hers—Terry had always admired her intelligence. By God, he didn't care if it was romantic or not, he couldn't help but love her. He walked out and started to head back to the kitchen when he heard his name again. Alison was leaning in the doorframe, towel wrapped around her, suddenly looking much more melancholic than he had ever seen her.

"Promise me. Promise me if you want only him you'll just do it. I won't force you to stay with me." A small tear dripped off of her silhouette.

Jones was very rarely speechless, but at this moment he only went up and wrapped his arms around his wife—his friend.

"I'll still love you if it comes down to it. I promise, Alison. I promise."

The unexpected had come true. Now the ball was out of Alison's court, although the extraordinary part was that none of the players knew it was even there in the first place, least of all Alison herself. Never mind the lead-up, the ball was in Terry's corner now.

* * *

It was after some further weeks of mulling over the idea that Terry finally swallowed his pride and got into the car. His fingers absentmindedly traced the faded stitching of the leather interior and his sigh fogged the window as he weighed his options. There were only two, really, to begin with.

Either he went to Graham's, or he didn't.

Although it would have been easy to get out of the car and go back into his home, Terry had already gotten this far. Another sigh of relief escaped him and he narrowed down his options again.

Either he went to Graham's _now_ , or he ran some errands on the way there.

Terry shook his head at his own thought. At this point he was making excuses, Alison had taken care of it before she left for work. He started the car and mentally mapped the way to the Chapman abode.

Halfway through the fairly short drive, stuck behind some crotchety lorry driver, Terry realized his options were even more complicated. He could explain the situation to Graham and hope all went well and then leave, or they could discuss and then explore their options.

Or Terry could forget about the control he held on to so tightly and let Graham take the lead.

Terry swerved before he caught himself, the pads of his fingers pressed forcefully into the steering wheel as he gritted his teeth.

A decision was far from made when Jones pulled up to the front of Graham's flat and felt a haze fall over his eyes. No matter what happened here in this building today, they would both have to reconcile a week later for more business with the others. Terry tried to imagine what the troupe would say if they knew, but once he got to imagining John's reaction Terry decided he didn't want to go anywhere with that particular tangent. The white door, the same stark white as the rest of the building, swung open as if it was controlled by some omnipotent force whose only goal was to bring the two men together. This time, Terry and Graham only tried to read each other's thoughts through the smoke rising from the latter's ever-present pipe.

"I talked to Alison", said Terry in a soft voice to break the tepid silence, still not removing his coat and scarf in case Graham turned him away. "She gave her approval."

Graham, sitting down in what seemed to be his signature armchair by the fireplace, gave no clues to his emotions as he merely raised one eyebrow. "Lord bless that woman," he said.

Terry, still unnerved, chuckled apprehensively and twisted the ends of his scarf in his calloused hands. Just as he was trying to think of a prompt to break the silence, Graham gave him a look that was almost stern.

"You can take your scarf and coat off," said the blond man, "And come over here by the fire. It's warmer."

Terry felt Graham's eyes on his neck as he removed his woolen winter coat. Jones was trembling now, not because he was cold, but because he was afraid. Terry Jones was excruciatingly afraid that he'd taken too long and that Graham no interest; that Graham was just playing a game.

Nevertheless, he hung up his winter layers and turned back to the taller man, who had all his attention on Terry. Upon approaching the other armchair he had been in a few weeks prior when the pair had their first taste of each other, Terry saw that it was absolutely covered in papers and pens and books.

"You can sit on the ground instead if you'd like. It would take much less time than sorting through that mess."

Terry dropped to the floor hesitantly, carefully, beside Graham's perch. Again, he could feel the pointed heat of a glare. He was too afraid to look upwards to meet it. The two men sat silently in the warm tension and Terry lost himself in visions of the flames turning into hands brushing together, limbs tangling, two heads thrown backward in unison. They were visions of burning fantasies without hope.

Terry almost jumped when Graham's elegant hand traced along with Terry's curls before curving down to cup the brunet's cheek. Looking into Graham's eyes, it was clear to Terry that the man had not looked away the entire time they had been sitting in the flickering glow. Terry felt blissfully helpless in Graham's now commanding gaze as the older man's thumb swiped so gently over Terry's plump bottom lip. Terry couldn't help himself. He leaned forward ever so slightly and let Graham slide his thumb into Terry's hesitantly eager mouth, and Terry curled the tip of his tongue lightly over the slightly salty ridges of Graham's skin— It was new, and it was raw, and it was thrilling.

The air was fantastically tense, even more than the moment weeks before, as the two men paused to breathe and take each other in. Terry found in all his hours of staring at Graham that he had failed to appreciate the angles of his nose, his lips, his cheekbones, how it all led into his eyes. It was so different from Terry's own strong features that were defined in softness, curving his face into a dark work of art.

Slowly but with a willful grip, his thumb still a weight on Terry's tongue, Graham held Terry's chin and brought their lips millimeters apart, not daring to ruin the dynamic.

Terry took a few breaths between their faces and realized he was too impatient. He couldn't wait, because he _wanted_ to be ruined, and he pushed forward as he took both sides of Graham's face in his hands, feeling the cheekbones and softness and the sweet release of finally getting the one thing one could never have. Their lips danced to the rhythm of their heartbeats, and Terry felt the catharsis begin to pour from his soul into Graham's throat.

Terry's usually strong hands danced weakly in Graham's fair waves as they grew together through their lips, and Graham grazed over the other's hair lightly as he pulled away.

"I'm begging you, go home now. I don't know how I'll be able to resist you if you don't, darling."

In response to Graham's words, Terry didn't leave. He didn't even more from the floor, only nuzzled into the other man's knee and clasped their hands together. "Please" was Terry's only response, whispered into what felt like the very core of Graham's being.

"Wait here, darling. I just have to get something." Graham got up slowly as not to knock Terry over and walked with signature grace out of the sitting room.

Terry felt like he was gasping, far beyond breathless from the interaction that had just broken what he realized may well have been weeks if not months or years of tension. Brushing his fingers over his lips and cheeks, Terry still felt the rough pads of Graham's fingers holding his jaw in place in a dangerously erotic embrace. Absentmindedly, Terry began to undo the buttons of his shirt with his other hand. This was when Graham decided to return, carrying— or rather dragging— a brown bearskin rug, throwing it in front of the fire ceremoniously and nearly lighting it on fire when he noticed Terry, his own fingers caressing his jaw and pulling off his shirt.

"I'll never turn down a show like this..." Graham let his blue eyes take in Terry's soft, strong body, the shapes it formed that looked like Renaissance art, the way the firelight reflected off his raven hair. This was Graham's deity on Earth, in his own home.

Terry did his best to let lust overwhelm embarrassment over how he was presenting himself to Graham and sat on the rug waiting for the fair man to join him.

It started with a soft kiss.

The kiss grew as if their passion was autumn and the warm breeze has begun to create intricate patterns of circling leaves in the air that had no idea what direction they were to blow into, but they never cared.

Terry was with Graham. There wasn't a thing in the world he could imagine caring about more.

The darker man felt hands trace along the curves of his chest to his waistband, and he whispered another gently forceful "please" when Graham asked for more. Graham lowered Terry down onto his back on the rug and kissed from his collarbone to his waistband as the recipient of the lust bit his lip and panted.

Terry's arm was over his eyes blocking out any light when he felt Graham brush over his cock, just lightly as a tease, before undoing the clasp and pulling out Terry's erection. Terry felt fingers. Then spit. Then lips, skilled and warm and so unlike a woman's touch. Terry couldn't hold back, uttering a guttural moan that sent a hum of appreciation from the blond's throat to Terry's cock.

It was all too much, and Terry muttered a whisper of relief when Graham's mouth left him in case he had finished right then and there. Graham came up to meet Terry's mouth with his own, lean arms resting on either side of Terry's black halo on the rug that seemed alight and alive as it reflected the flames.

"You're too beautiful."

"Hmm?"

"Just ethereal," finished Graham, and Terry could almost catch a glimpse of himself in the reflection in Graham's blown pupils.

"Can I speak for one moment? Only one, I promise."

Graham, unfazed, sat back and nodded intelligently. Even in sex, he was elegant.

"So that's it then— your enigma, it's just that you exist on a spectrum of emotion and ideas and you want to be invisible in the middle?"

"Exactly it, Tel." Graham smiled at Terry, and Terry gave a knowing smile back.

That was only the surface and they both knew it. Terry realized now that it didn't even matter if he processed it all out loud as long as they both knew he knew. Terry finally truly knew Graham, the actor, the writer, the would-be doctor, the playboy, the rum enthusiast, the man, and that was too private to mull over. What the pair had was the here and the now, and Terry needed to get back to it or he was going to scream. Oh, of course, he had almost forgotten.

"I don't want you to fuck me tonight."

Graham was only mildly taken aback by Terry's blunt delivery, but took it in stride.

"Well there's always the other way 'round, it's not quite as-"

Terry brought up his hand. "No. No fucking tonight, it's... too much, too fast. I just want to feel you first, Gray."

Graham understood perfectly, it seemed, when he started to remove his shirt and run his hands along Terry's broad shoulders, kissing tenderly at Terry's collarbone whenever the mood struck him. Terry's head was thrown back as he knelt, holding Graham's face to his neck and chest and running his fingers down the other's freckled back, beads of sweat forming a crown as the flames grew dangerously, but neither of them was able to care.

In the chaos of the slow, intense, insatiable lust, Terry managed to peel away the pair's remaining clothes and toss them onto Graham's empty armchair. Now they were panting into each other, Graham holding himself over a supine Terry once more. Slowly, staring into Terry's eyes, Graham lowered himself down so their chests touched first, then their stomachs, and finally...

Terence Jones had never seen erotically psychedelic stars the way he did when Graham's large erection began to brush against his own, precum dripping down the shaft. Hooking himself onto Graham's shoulders above him, Terry did what he would previously have considered pathetic, bucking his hips up to rut against the blond's member and stomach, spitting on his hand and slipping it between them to add to the lubrication.

It was the noises that got to Graham, that finally sent him over the edge. Terry Jones was known for his warm, intelligent voice, but suddenly that voice was gasping and, Lord help him, _whimpering_ underneath him, begging in ragged breaths. With a grunt, Graham felt the tightness low in his abdomen release as he came between their stomachs, gasping as Terry continued rubbing himself to completion, still moaning, on Graham's now-overstimulated member. Once Terry's face had tightened and relaxed and there was another final spurt between them, Graham allowed himself to collapse onto his back on the rug, the scent of sweat and musk and firewood and sex filling the space.

They didn't speak until after Graham had cleaned them both gently and gotten them water and some more whisky, and they lay nude under a quilt on the rug, the last embers barely lighting their faces.

"Thank you for pursuing me so cryptically, Tel, darling. You are so incredible."

Terry smiled, hoping it was too dark for Graham to see, but knowing that Graham would know whether the smile was visible or not. "Thank you for being proud of being who you are. Cryptic, enigmatic, confusing... you deserve more than mortality, Graham, with that and your wit and beauty."

Terry felt Graham's small smile in their kiss. "Sleep, darling. You're tired."

With those words, Graham rolled away and began to breathe in a slow cadence, arm extended behind him to hold Terry's hand.

With an answer like that, Terry realized maybe he hadn't figured out the psyche of the other man just yet. And he realized maybe that was alright.

That night, Terry dreamt he was a Norwegian blue, flying past the fleeting shadows.


End file.
